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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28477278">The Story of Five and Dolores</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/narnie/pseuds/narnie'>narnie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Story of Five and Dolores [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Guns, Other, Post-Apocalypse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:55:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28477278</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/narnie/pseuds/narnie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Five has blinked into an apocalyptic future. Four hours pass and he finds half a mannequin for which he has difficulty finding a name. Three weeks later, he meets a girl named Dolores. Together, the two must find a way to survive a world foreign to the one they knew.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dolores &amp; Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Dolores/Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Story of Five and Dolores [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085852</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Day One - Five Finds a Mannequin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My headcanon of Five and Dolores is canon-compliant (with some references to details in the show) and a few liberties that don't deviate drastically from canon! In this fic, I will explore an AU where Dolores was originally a real person.</p><p>I hope you enjoy! (This is the first of an unspecified amount of chapters in this story)<br/>This is also my first time posting my work on AO3 so I apologize for any formatting issues.<br/>Also, Happy New Year!</p><p>- narnie (she/her)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Hour One </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The smoke scratches Five’s throat and he grimaces, knowing that no matter where he goes, he’ll be struggling to breathe. <em> Fire and brimstone </em>, he can almost hear his father reciting from some awful classics book to him and his siblings. </p><p> </p><p>His family. Five slides down to the ground, leaning against the pile of rubble nearest him, muscles aching from exhaustion. The sound of his stomach growling is a bitter reminder of the meal he missed just today. Or is it even today? Whatever nonsense Reginald Hargreeves said about the dangers of time travel is very apparently true.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> How the fuck was I supposed to know? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Just for kicks, Five tries to time jump again, but to no avail. Five bites his lip to distract himself from bursting into tears.</p><p> </p><p>“Think,” he mutters, clenching his fists. “What would Luther or Diego do?”</p><p> </p><p>He glances around momentarily, as if his brothers might have heard his question, the words an admission to the truth that he admires their leadership. He swallows the thought that he might have to use past tense, because if they’re dead underneath the rubble…</p><p> </p><p>Five shakes his head. At this point, he’d rather Luther appear with a smug smirk on his face and Diego yelling “Ha! Gotcha!” with Allison, Klaus, Ben, and Vanya towing behind them laughing their heads off - well, maybe not Ben and Vanya, because they know how much he doesn’t like to be laughed at - than to face this burnt and ashen world he wants to believe is all a dream.</p><p> </p><p>“What would dad do?” he says, louder this time. Maybe it’s a test. Maybe his father drugged him and put him in some type of nightmarish state until he verbally confesses his mistake and- and what?</p><p> </p><p>Five figures it’d be best to find Reginald Hargreeves. He inhales deeply, immediately regretting it as he bursts into a fit of coughs. After a minute, he stands up on shaking legs, brushing off the dust that’s gathered on his black socks. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hour Two </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Nauseous from every single thing in this forsaken wasteland, Five empties the little contents of his stomach into a broken urn in what used to be an antique shop.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> So much for looking for </em>
  <em>dad. How can I find anyone, living or dead, in this wreck?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Scattered on the checkered floor are pieces of multicolored glass, ceramic, and splinters of wood that Five reckons used to be furniture which are still giving off wisps of smoke. His eyes land on a life size doll whose plastic face is half melted holding a charred teddy bear. He wretches into the urn again. </p><p> </p><p>Wiping his mouth with his jacket sleeve, Five feels an animalistic panic bubble in his stomach. He licks his lips. “Water,” he croaks to himself. “I need to find water.”</p><p> </p><p>Five moves on to the next shop, stumbling in the dim room, peering through the space for any sign of a back kitchen or washroom. </p><p> </p><p>His right shoe catches on something and he trips. “Shit!”</p><p> </p><p>Sitting upright, Five examines the scratches above his knees, grateful it isn’t any deeper. He frowns as he looks at the black items peppering the tiled floor. </p><p> </p><p>His eyes widen as they focus on a shape Five can only make out to be a shotgun. A ghost of a smile lingers on his lips as he takes hold of it in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>Back at the Umbrella Academy, there were scheduled hours throughout the week dedicated to reading. Sometimes Reginald Hargreeves gave the children assigned reading. But as they got older, they usually were allowed to choose what they wanted to read. Fortunately for Number Five, he had a gun phase. </p><p> </p><p>First things first, Five makes sure the safety is on. His ears and fingers tingle as he checks the chamber for ammo. Next, he scours the room for usable bullets. Finds five boxes of shotgun shells and a large tin cookie box that hid a Glock pistol and boxes of 9mm bullets. Tries not to think of his siblings as he counted seven boxes of 9mm ammo. Fails miserably.</p><p> </p><p>Tears prick his eyes and his sore throat reminds him of the task at hand. <em> Water. </em></p><p> </p><p>Five carefully retrieves an unscathed black duffel bag strewn haphazardly under a panel of cracked glass, and deposits the guns and ammo. “Who knows,” says Five Hargreeves, “Guns may come in handy in an apocalyptic world.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hour Three </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Five makes it to <em> Griddy’s </em> and is rewarded with a broken pipe that is spewing out water at a relatively high pressure. </p><p> </p><p>He had found a scooter that saved him energy and time. Five figured he’d check his and his siblings’ favorite donut joint in the city. It also happened to be the closest to the Academy, so with the exception of a few detours due to rubble blockages, Five easily found his way to the diner.</p><p> </p><p>Half of the roof has collapsed into the diner, lights flickering in staccato rays. Five carefully maneuvers through the broken glass windows and feels a sense of relief when he hears the familiar sound of <em> water </em>. </p><p> </p><p>He follows the sound behind the counter and dives to the ground, shaking hands grabbing the pipe as he gulps away his dehydration. He doesn’t care that his socks are soaking up some of the water on the floor. He drinks cool, clean water for about five minutes, until he feels almost nauseous again. He slips off the duffel bag from his shoulder and unzips it to grab and fill an insulated metal water bottle. After he screws the lid tightly shut, Five finds a cracked but relatively clean plastic bin which he places under the pipe to collect more water. </p><p> </p><p>When it fills halfway, he scoops water in his hands and splashes his face and neck.</p><p> </p><p>Five groans. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” After cleaning the scratches above his knees, Five consumes the water in his bottle and refills it again, repeating the steps twice before sitting down, legs to his chest, and eventually passing out on the floor.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hour Four </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Five is startled awake at the behest of his siblings yelling his name in his dream. Luther, Diego, Allison, Klaus, Ben, Vanya. </p><p> </p><p>He wonders whether they’re worried about him, especially after he didn’t show up after dinner or bedtime. Klaus and Ben knows that Five snuck out of the house sometimes. Would Allison interrogate Luther and Diego and would Vanya interrogate Klaus and Ben to where Five might be? Except this time, no one will have an answer.</p><p> </p><p>Five finds a hole in the wall ten feet away from his water source and he peeks his head through it before the rest of his body follows. Through the ashy fog, Five observes the sky starting to dim. It’ll be dark in a few hours. Five resolves to go back to the Academy before sundown to search for-</p><p> </p><p>“For what?” Five hisses, irritated, knowing he’ll find the same piles of rubble and ruins. For anything.</p><p> </p><p>He relieves himself against the outer wall before going back inside and drinking two bottles of water. He tucks it safely inside the inner duffel bag pocket after refilling it and looks through the dilapidated shelves of canned goods. </p><p> </p><p>He stacks the cans that can be opened without a can opener and scans through each, deciding on chicken noodle soup. He gulps down the can without chewing.</p><p> </p><p>After shoving five or six cans of food, a fork, a spoon, a butterknife, and a utility knife with a sheath into his bag, Five finds some safety goggles and a clean dishrag. He ties the rag around his face and puts the goggles on before walking out of <em> Griddy’s </em> with his duffel bag.</p><p> </p><p>In a non-apocalyptic world, Five would feel very badass. But under these circumstances, Five is scared shitless and rightfully so. Still, he grabs his scooter and heads back the way he came.</p><p> </p><p>After ten minutes, Five stops when he sees a red wagon flipped upside down. The ache in his back convinces him to take a break and he drops the duffle. He flips it rightside up before plopping down and leaning against the wagon. </p><p> </p><p>The sound of a soft clack against gravel makes him look down to his left hip, where half of Luther’s iPod is sticking out of his shorts’ pocket.</p><p> </p><p>Five makes a noise almost like a laugh as he grabs it and the attached earbuds, placing them in his ears. Good for him that Luther had pissed him off this morning, as Five tended to steal his siblings’ iPods when they vexed him.</p><p> </p><p>They were a birthday gift from their father less than a year ago, and it was one of the only gifts that meant something to the Hargreeves children. Although he suspected Pogo or Grace had a part in the children receiving the gift, it meant even more now for Five, as it was the only souvenir from his past and family. Five felt a pang of guilt as he realized that he'd taken one of Luther’s most prized possessions.</p><p> </p><p>To distract from the thought, Five presses <em> play </em>. As the first few chords of “Island in the Sun” by Weezer begins to play, he slips the iPod back into his pocket, stands up, heaves the duffle and scooter onto the wagon, and begins pulling.</p><p> </p><p>After thirty minutes (maybe he should have just taken the scooter back), Five stops at what he deduces to be a department store without a roof. He definitely underestimated the time it would take for the sun to set. He pauses the music, frowning at the battery bar that is now only two thirds full when he realizes he doesn’t have the charger.</p><p> </p><p>Five decides to hunker down in the corner of the store that has the most intact walls. After shifting some rubble, hangers, and boxes, he leaves his wagon of supplies and grabs a cart with a shifty wheel.</p><p> </p><p>Maneuvering carefully through the store, he throws into the cart a blanket, pillows, a camp kit, two flashlights, and other items Five wanted to examine later. He finds a battery-powered and a solar-powered lantern and turns on the former, placing it on the floor. Five sets the tent with great difficulty but with even greater resolve, he finishes it in about twenty minutes.</p><p> </p><p>“Take that!” he yells to no one in particular. “And I’m guessing it only took me, what, fifteen minutes? Speaking of time,” he mumbles, rummaging through the cart, “I thought I put a wristwatch here- aha!”</p><p> </p><p>Ripping the watch from its packaging, Five guesses the time based on the position of the sun like his father taught him and sets it to 9:30pm before attaching it to his left wrist.</p><p> </p><p>The dreaded feeling of thirst creeping up on him, Five decides to survey the building for any clean water. He grabs the lantern and makes it twenty steps toward the other end of the store before tripping and crashing to the floor. Swearing under his breath, he sits up, bringing the lantern down to where he tripped, screaming when he comes face to face with the upper half of a bald mannequin with a feminine face. </p><p> </p><p>After taking deep breaths to calm his heart rate, Five laughs. “Shit, you scared me.”</p><p> </p><p>Shaking his head, Five stands up and brushes dust off his shorts, glancing down at the mannequin. “I’ll be back for you. Just looking for some water.”</p><p> </p><p>Things seem to be looking up for Five as he finds not only a working sink, but a working toilet as well. He sticks his head under the faucet and gulps down as much water as he is able before splashing his face clean of any apocalypse dirt. </p><p> </p><p>“Toothbrush,” he mutters. As promised, he comes back for the mannequin, carrying it against his hip to his tent before grabbing the toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste from the cart. </p><p> </p><p>Once Five finishes cleaning up (he even finds a well-fitted pair of sweatpants and a sweater to change into), he retreats to his tent with the mannequin, setting it up so its back was facing him.</p><p> </p><p>“Be on the lookout, will you? Thanks.” A few seconds pass before he facepalms. “What am I doing? It’s a freaking mannequin!” He laughs, almost crazed, when he remembers Luther’s iPod in his shorts pockets. He retrieves it before settling back into the tent.</p><p> </p><p>Five arranges six pillows to stand vertically, leaning on the side of and around the tent. He sits cross-legged, as if sitting in a circle with his siblings like they used to do in Ben’s room after they snuck out of their rooms when Pogo went to bed and Mom went to recharge. Before Dad began to monitor their sleep cycles. </p><p> </p><p>Five presses play and smiles when “Dancing in the Moonlight” by Toploader rings through the earbuds. Luther may be a jerk ninety-nine percent of the time, but Five couldn’t deny that he had a decent taste in music and even downloaded songs that were particular favorites of the other siblings. This was one of the Hargreeves children’s favorite songs. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “...Everybody here is out of sight </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They don’t bark and they don’t bite </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They keep things loose, they keep it tight </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Everybody’s dancing in the moonlight </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dancing in the moonlight </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Everybody’s feeling warm and bright </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It's such a fine and natural sight </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Everybody’s dancing in the moonlight” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Five closes his eyes, bopping his head to the music exactly like he would when they would all play this song on each of their iPods at the same time and his siblings would dance noiselessly around Ben’s room. <em> A silent disco </em>, Allison would say. They used to have many silent discos, sometimes rotating whose room they’d dance in.</p><p> </p><p>Once, in Diego’s room, Diego Hargreeves challenged them to a dance-off - craziest dance wins. No powers allowed so it was fair for Vanya, as if any of their powers would’ve helped them dance any better, but still. It was even more fun because they had to stay quiet or else Pogo would come and send them back to their rooms. </p><p> </p><p>The fond memory is interrupted as a Britney Spears song begins to play through the earbuds. Definitely a favorite of Allison’s. Five skips it and tunes in as a more somber song that he hasn’t heard before begins to play. </p><p> </p><p>As the song continues, the lyrics begin to pierce the anger in Five’s chest and grief squeezes his lungs and pours itself out in fits of sobs. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “‘Cause all of the stars are fading away </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Just try not to worry, you’ll see them someday </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Just take what you need, and be on your way </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And stop crying your heart out </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> We’re all of the stars, we’re fading away </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Just try not to worry, you’ll see us someday </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Just take what you need, and be on your way </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And stop crying your heart out” </em>
</p><p>(“Stop Crying Your Heart Out” by Oasis)</p><p> </p><p>Feeling heartsick, bitterly lonely, and surprisingly a bit relieved from crying for the first time in weeks, Five stops the music and curls under the blanket. He sleeps soundly, exhausted, and under the watchful eye of six pillows and a mannequin. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Four Weeks Later - Five Meets Dolores</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Four weeks after blinking into the apocalypse, Five meets a girl named Dolores.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Present day, three weeks later</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sound of metal clanging from below startles Five awake. He cocks his shotgun and looks at the mannequin beside him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you hear that?” he whispers harshly. “Someone walked right into our alarm system. No, it’s not a rat this time,” Five rolls his eyes at the mannequin, standing up from his makeshift bed on the second floor of the house. “Yes, I’m sure! I worked out all the kinks. Now shut up or they’ll hear you. I’ll be back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy inches his way down the splintered staircase of the house in which he took up residence one week ago, being careful to tread lightly on the planks that he memorized would creak.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Footsteps paddle in what used to be the kitchen. Five pauses. Maybe he can let whoever it is take what they need. He has enough food in his duffel to last a few days, maybe a week if he’s careful. But food is becoming more and more scarce, and he doesn't want to go back to eating cockroaches and-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is it with old people and soup?” a girl’s voice mutters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five cocks an eyebrow in surprise, not expecting to hear a young person rifling through the kitchen. He resists the urge to run into the kitchen and ask her a million questions about what the hell happened four weeks ago and how she survived. Instead, he blinks closer, from the bottom of the staircase to behind the doorway of the kitchen - at least the bottom half that’s still standing upright - so he can get a better look at the person shoving a few cans of food in her… silver sequined backpack?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five rolls his eyes. She’d definitely be a friend of Allison’s if they were allowed to make friends outside of the Academy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who even likes clam chowder?” says the girl in a tone that makes it clear she is not impressed by her options.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five makes the mistake of kneeling to make himself more comfortable, his knees knocking down a melted shape of a lamp. Five winces at the sound of it crashing on the floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who’s there?” the girl asks. A cock of a gun makes his chest thump. “I said, who the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>is there?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For some reason that Five would never be able to make out, his next move was not to blink away to safety. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To his and the girl’s surprise, he stands up straight, revealing himself, and flashes the girl his trademark smirk as she trains her pistol at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“<em>I</em> like clam chowder.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” she breathes, narrowing her eyes. Beads of sweat roll down the side of her forehead and she fights the urge to swipe it away. Five wonders if it's from the imminent altercation or from the heat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two size each other up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl stares at Five’s outfit for a moment, perplexed, looks up at his face, and then at his hands which are clasped casually behind his back. She deduces that Five is unarmed and makes an almost imperceptible sigh of relief.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five’s smirk deepens as he realizes she thinks she has the upper hand, what with his leaving his shotgun at the top of the stairs. Five clears his throat, containing his surprise and excitement at seeing another human being. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He pushes back images of his dead siblings and other corpses he’d found under the rubble.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I said I like clam chowder,” says Five, slowly stepping into the kitchen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t move!” she straightens her arms and clutches her pistol tighter with a frightened and angry expression. Dangerous. “I swear to God I’ll shoot you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five stays still. “I believe you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl hesitates, lowering her gun for a moment before deciding to resume her previous position. “Who are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My name’s Five.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She blinks. “Like the number?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like the number," Five repeats. "What’s your name?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why should I tell you? You’re obviously lying about yours.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wish I was,” chuckles Five, stopping short when he realizes laughing is not helping his case. “Listen. My name is Five Hargreeves. I lived at the Umbrella Academy on the other side of town.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now I know you’re lying,” she says with a laugh, which surprises Five. But she does lower her gun so it’s an improvement. “You think I’m an idiot?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not lying,” Five says slowly, getting agitated. “I’m Reginald Hargreeves’ son. I-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get down,” she whispers firmly, eyes suddenly wide.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five obeys and the two crouch down near the floor. Five watches in confusion as the girl crawls toward the sink and she peers out the kitchen window.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are we doing?” whispers Five.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hiding,” the girl responds, eyes now trained on the window. After about thirty seconds, she relaxes and turns around to look at Five. “I thought I saw…” she trails off. The girl looks at Five, eyes narrowing. “Have you met anyone here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head. “You’re the first living person I’ve seen since…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nods, averting her gaze. “Yeah, well, you don’t want to get in the habit of finding people, dead or alive.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s that supposed to mean?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s just say there are a few unsavory people who survived the apocalypse.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m guessing you befriended some of them."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah,” she says dryly, “they’ve been worried sick about me ever since I stole a gun and a few cans of food from their precious stash.” The girl stands up slowly, looking out the window again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five grimaces, following suit and joining her at the window. “So they’re armed and looking for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, no shit. What else is there to do in this hellhole?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why’d you do it? Steal and leave, I mean?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because I need to find my family,” she responds, momentarily glancing at Five. “And these people tracking me… they’re not good people.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I see her!” a voice outside bellows. “There!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit!” The two duck in time to miss the rain of bullets peppering the window and walls of the kitchen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Listen,” Five yells above the sound of bullets. “In a few seconds, the firing will stop. That’s when we need to make a break for it.” He points to the kitchen door. “Get past that and go through the backdoor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do you know the firing will stop?” she says, clutching her gun and panting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They don’t have infinite ammo, do they?” Five rolls his eyes. “They'll have to reload. Look, go through the kitchen door and then the backdoor. There’s a bunch of trees in the yard leading to a forest that goes on for a few miles. Just run.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As predicted, the bullets stop flying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We know you’re in there, Dolores!” a deep voice bellows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come out! We won’t hurt you!” a female voice adds. Her tone makes Five's stomach uneasy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, I’m definitely convinced you won't hurt me after you<em> fuckers just shot a hundred bullets at me!</em>” Dolores yells out to her hunters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another round of bullets sprays their area.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re running out of time,” says Five impatiently. “They’ll be coming through the front door soon. You should go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I left my gun and bag upstairs. I’ll follow after you. How many are out there?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dolores shakes her head. “Three or four of them, I think. How-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just trust me, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five and Dolores lock eyes. Blue and brown. Something resolute in Five’s expression convinces the girl. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine. But if you get shot and die, I won’t come back for you,” she says, looking down, unable to make eye contact. “I can’t. Nothing personal, I just… I can’t let them find me. I have to get back to my family.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five nods. “I understand.” He does. “Don’t forget your bag.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dolores glances up at her bag on the counter. “Thanks.” She grabs it and shoves the nearest cans and salvageable utensils she can find. She grabs a can of clam chowder, smirking. “Hey, since you’re such a fan-” she stops short, b</span>
  <span>ewildered, looking around the kitchen for the boy who has apparently disappeared. “What…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dolores!” the male voice calls out. “We’ve been nice. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Just return what you stole-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His voice is cut off and Dolores hears people yelling but it’s not directed at her. “Fuck this shit.” The group of idiots probably got into another verbal argument. Now's the time to escape.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dolores crawls across the kitchen floor towards the door Five came in through. Once out, she hoists her bag on her shoulders, and runs through the backdoor, pistol in hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hearing gunfire behind her pushes her to run faster and harder toward the treeline and she doesn’t stop until her lungs are burning and she’s almost half a mile into the forest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She drops her bag to her feet and places her hands on her knees, gasping. After a minute, she feels her pulse regulating.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” Five says behind her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dolores yells in surprise, whipping around and firing a bullet in the direction of the voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Woah, relax! It’s me,” he exclaims. “You almost shot me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why shouldn’t I shoot you now?” she says, training her gun at him. Maybe he helped her so he could steal her stuff. But looking closely at Five now, panting slightly and looking exhausted, Dolores gets the feeling that’s not the case. Besides, he has his own supplies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five drops the duffel beside him. “Oh, let’s see. Maybe because I saved your freaking life back there? How about a thank you?” he smiles sarcastically.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-” Dolores pauses. “You’re right. Sorry.” She sighs, meeting Five’s gaze. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods. “You’re welcome. So your name’s Dolores?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What- oh. Yeah. I hate it,” she says. “My mom, she was- </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> traditional, I guess. I don’t know. Tala always called me Dee.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tala?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My little sister. Anyway, my name’s Dolores. What’s yours?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Five.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Relax, we kind of know each other now, so you can trust me with your name.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That is my name,” says Five, the agitation rising in his voice. “Like I said back at the house, my name is Five. I’m the son of Reginald Hargreeves-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you do think I’m an idiot,” she exclaims. “Unbelievable. Fine, I'll bite. Reginald Hargreeves died a month ago and his children attended the funeral. It was covered on the news. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>weren’t there. In fact, I recall they showed a two-minute segment about the tragic death of, what was his name? Oh! Benjamin Hargreeves. And Five Hargreeves went missing almost two decades ago. Besides, I wrote a paper on your supposed fucked-up family. So I know for a fact that you’re lying.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Each sentence is a dagger to Five’s chest at the reality that this girl knew more about his family history than he did, but he manages a question with a calculated voice. “If you wrote a paper on my family, you’d know we have powers, yes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Benjamin Hargreeves had that octopus thing and Five had a spatial jump power which you obviously don’t have.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five tilts his head with a sarcastic smile before blinking two metres to his left.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See? I told you I wasn’t lying. I’m-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stay back!” she yells, pointing her gun at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five blinks beside her, slapping the gun out of her hands. It lands a few feet to her right and Dolores jumps to grab it. Five blinks to where the gun is and steps on the gun with his right foot before her hands touch it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Listen, I’m not gonna hurt you. If I wanted to, I could have back at the house.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How is this possible?” she mumbles, looking up at Five. "If you're who you say you are, how..."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighs. “It’s a long story. One I won’t be able to tell if you continue to try to shoot me. Mind listening for a minute instead of pointing your gun at me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a few seconds of silence, she nods. “Okay,” Dolores says, repositioning herself so she’s sitting cross-legged. She looks up at Five expectantly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not gonna try shooting me?” he says, warily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head. “I won’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five eyes her suspiciously. Growing up with his siblings taught him to be cautious and call out bluffs. With his foot, he kicks the gun six feet behind him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Try reaching for the gun and it’ll be pointed right at you before you could even say umbrella,” Five warns. "Is that clear, <em>Dolores?</em>"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, yeah, fine!” Dolores raises her hands in mock surrender, rolling her eyes. “I believe you now… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Five</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a few hours of talking and convincing and sharing, Dolores and Five each gain an inch of trust. They learn that she’s almost nine months older than him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Technically, I’m more than 15 years older than you,” Five says. "Me being born in 1989 and all."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nope. I'm fourteen seeing as my birthday is in January. You’re thirteen, time travel or not, so you're younger.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five agrees to help her get to the next city over in hopes of finding her family. Five doesn’t tell her that it’s hopeless, that she’ll either find nothing or their bodies because that’s what he found left of his family. But he doesn't say anything because isn’t he the same? Hoping against all odds that he’ll somehow find a way back to his family in his time period?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They talk about music. When Five pulls out Luther’s iPod, the first model Apple made, Dolores’ eyes widen. “Okay, I take back what I said, you’re definitely older than me. Do you even have a charger for that ancient artefact?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever, smartass,” Five rolls his eyes. He can’t help but note that Dolores swears ten times more than him, five times more than Klaus and Diego. He frowns. “I don’t have a charger, I’ve looked at every gadget store-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dolores snickers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We don’t call tech stuff </span>
  <em>
    <span>gadgets</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she laughs. “I’m gonna have to start calling you Old Man.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, please. Me using outdated terminology is more preferable than the nightmare that is your vocabulary and grammar. Dad would disown you if you were one of his lucky adopted children. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tech stuff</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he scoffs. “Very descriptive. Are all teenagers in your generation as articulate as you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” she laughs, throwing a small rock at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, I’ve searched for chargers anywhere they might have them because the battery is almost drained. Didn’t find anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, the model of your iPod isn’t exactly recent. We’ll look at refurbished tech and liquidator shops once we reach my house. We'll find you a charger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Five nods. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t mention it. Besides, I don’t think many people are looking for ancient iPod chargers. I think our odds at finding one are pretty good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dolores pulls out her iPhone. She laughs when Five’s jaw drops when she explains its features. “What do you mean, you have over a thousand songs stored in your phone? That’s a</span>
  <span> phone! </span>
  <span>How does</span>
  <span> it have maps and games and-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It has a lot more things than that, old man. The battery’s really low right now, but when it’s charged I promise you can look through it for a few minutes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Bet it doesn't have a compass," mumbles Five.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uh, yeah. It does. But who uses a compass anyway?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five runs a hand over his face. "I see now that my penance for being an asshole to my dad is getting stuck with you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Shut up."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Later, when they decide to leave the forest and find shelter for the night, he laughs, really laughs, when Dolores eyes his bag.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If we’re gonna be partners, we need to split things fairly,” she says in a patronizing tone that Five thinks is one she uses on her little sister. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five begins to rummage through her silver sequined bag. “Sure, whatever keeps us alive. You know, your bag’s not very discreet. It's too flashy. It also doesn’t hold very much, so maybe you should consider replacing it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dolores wordlessly walks over to Five’s duffel bag, and proceeds to scream her head off when she pulls the zipper open and her eyes find the top half of a mannequin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Five rolls on the forest floor laughing to the point of tears and on the verge of throwing up, Dolores tries to reclaim some dignity by rolling her eyes at him even though his eyes are squeezed shut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Psycho,” she mutters, a ghost of a smile on her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos and/or a comment if you'd like to read more :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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